Doing a few changes to both personal life and musical life, and this blog applies to both changes. I’ve decided to only make the more creative stuff, the political stuff and the general discussions popping up in my head available to the public. So less personal stuff, those posts will appear on my facebook page, maybe some on instagram and very little on twitter, where I can at least have the illusion that friends I’ve chosen to share it with are the only ones who can read it. All 400 + of those close, personal friends, eh? 😉
So my old blog, mariabohm.blogg.se will soon be shutting down, I’ll wait a little while so my readers can find their way to this one. Aaaanyways, wordpress has a bigger audience, and those I really direct these opinions to have a greater chance to get to read it.
My first blog subject is a no-brainer, I can’t think of anything or anyone to make it about who’s better than my dear grandpa, Pelle Bohm. For those of you who don’t know, the world recently lost this wonderful man. On january 11th, 2013, he made heaven a little more beautiful with his presence. The last words we interchanged, and our last moments, will remain between us. They are for my ears, and his spirit only.
But I can tell you, I lost both a wonderful granddad and a good friend. Many might not know that my original surname was Johnsen. Growing up with many visits at Pelle’s, where he taught me how to play chess, solve intricate 3-dimensional puzzles, read the old classics and watch and listen to the oldies, I realized a great heritage, the Bohm heritage, would be lost. The soldier name, the monogrammed towels, the 1800 swords, the Bohm Island, everything. The Bohms had loadsa girls, all following traditions and taking their husbands surnames, so Bohm was disappearing. “On my father’s side, there are 5 Johnsen grandchildren. There are no Bohms. It’s not fair. I should at least be Johnsen-Bohm.” The personel working at where you change your name in Sweden were probably in a lazy mood that day, so they replied: “No, you can’t be both. It’s Johnsen or Bohm.” I was only 18, but I didn’t even have to sit down and think it through. “Bohm it is then” I said immediately. “I’ve always felt more like a Bohm.” Mom got really excited, let me tell you, but not half as happy as granddad when she phoned him up to tell him. So from that day, it was “Lilla Bohmen” and “Stora Bohmen”. Inside Gothenburg joke.
As a musician, you have no idea how he’s been my help and inspiration. Donating his old (working, lovely old school) music stuff to me, among them a Tandberg, contributing to me buying some goood equipment, himself learning violin at 60 good enough to play on recordings with Västgöta Spelemän and… I dunno… just having such fun with life. Grabbing it instead of waiting for it. I studied science of religion, putting an aim at the psychology, just to get more inspiration (and wanting to be Bono when I grow up) and learn about people, I learned more from him during my visits on my breaks. He served tea, we ate cookies. That man loved his sweets and his crisps and his whiskey, oh… the apple doth not fall far from the tree 😉 And he became a person. He became my buddy. We talked grandma, he played me her pleasant speaking voice on the Tandberg, and he talked about how she was THE ONE and nothing felt right after her. And we looked through photo albums, and whenever he was in it, he always looked very lovingly at his family. Grandma. Mom. Us kids. It was like he loved us so much he couldn’t take his eyes off of us. And it moves me still, it was so genuine. The only time he looked away was when he enjoyed all his fantastic travels, and (ooooh, apple-tree) new tech stuff and taking photographs. He was sooo fascinated by both science and arts, I mean, he had something for all the grandkids to play with 🙂 Smart was cool. Art was cool. My music was fascinating. I’ve followed him unknowingly, apparently he had a summer school in Weymouth (where I went to college) and worked a good while in what we call Schlätta, where I live now, so he would always listen to my stories and nod. He knew, cause he had been there already. I was only half aware that I had actually gone to the same places as him and lived and worked, I just thought the places seemed appealing. So weird ;D
We would have such long talks. Person to person. I think it’d surprise you that most older people are just 22-year-olds in an old persons body. It doesn’t surprise me anymore. The only difference is that the older people have more interesting stories to tell. And when it comes to my grandpa; SOOO many more. He showed me Beijing and London. Honestly. He just treated the family to the travels. So fantastic. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The best travels I’ve ever done is with him.
It all inspired me when he was alive, and it feels like this spry person is lost to the world. The world needed him. Going through all his boxes brings my tears out, not only for me, but because the world has lost a bonified cool person and I’ve lost a buddy.
Honestly? I’m gonna be lost a while without him. I know I’ll rise a different person, for the better, when the tears subside, and inspiration will probably come more easy than ever. But you’re gonna have to be patient. Much like Scarecrow and Tin Man in The Wizard of OZ (thanks to him my first every fav film, cred, eh?) I have to get to my OZ and have my inner wizard tell me “You had a brain and a heart all along!” but first, I have to walk that Yellow Brick Road. For always, Stora Bohmen. Du fattas mig.